Shackle and Scepter
Dawnstar Keep: War Room ' ---- ::''One of the largest rooms within Dawnstar Keep, the War Room is also one of the most brightly lit, thanks mostly to the ceiling featuring a stained-glass dome depicting nothing more than an interlace of colors and light. ::The central feature of the War Room is the large, round redwood table that dominates much of the floor space from within its position in the middle of the room. Polished to a deep shine, it has space for twelve people to sit around it at equidistant positions, and thus comes equipped with a number of highback redwood chairs for that very purpose. ::Set atop the standard red-with-gold-trim carpeting against the usual backdrop of dark bluish-gray stone, the redwood table shares the War Room with a number of other items of furniture, such as the trio of sturdy desks tucked into an open alcove on the northern side of the room, and the various bookshelves that line the walls, complete with documents and maps of trade routes and Imperial Fort locations that would be out of place within the main library. ::Serving as a place of study, business, politics, or simple retreat, the War Room is a location that is tasked with a number of roles when the need arises, but remains mostly empty and quiet all the same. Of curious note, one can also find a steel crossbow quarrel firmly lodged in the southern wall. ---- '''It is written that dignity consists not in possessing honors, but in the consciousness that we deserve them. If that is so, then Dawnstar Keep is surely a place that defines it; blessed by visitors of such caliber, if not by inhabitants alone. So it is, then, that on the Ninth hour by the Shadow on Fealty, the 19th day of Kilning in the Year 627 ATA, Serath Kahar awaits one such visitor within the War Room of that very same keep. With a level of grace and poise often reserved only for the most regal of felines, he can be found sitting at the north-western edge of the large redwood table that dominates the room. In front of him sleep a few neglected documents of official importance, a forsaken quill and inkpot, and what would appear to be a large leather-bound tome entitled "Weapons of Legacy". As for the Prince himself, he is clad in a matte-black leather surcoat, tapping an equally shrouded hand upon the tome while he waits. The darkness presents an odd contrast in the softer hues of a warmly lit room; the argent of his hair and the ethereal dusty-blue of his eyes acting as somewhat of an antithesis of his choice of wardrobe. Yet it all manages to complement his posture - and, perhaps, very nature - just perfectly. A not-quite rhythmic metallic percussion of armored footsteps echoes in from the hallway, beginning as a distant noise, but growing gradually louder with each step. The noise stops on the other side of the war room door, which is promptly pushed open by a strong arm and a firm gauntlet. Iron-clad footsteps carry an aging wildcat, Tiris Kahar, into the room. Four decades, one war, and the burden of heavy iron plates are as nothing before his purposeful stride, which is of the type more commonly seen in younger men. Though he barely favors his left leg, it is noticeable only because of the noise that punctuates each of his steps. In such an empty room, his gaze finds the Prince of the Blood quickly. A joyful smile crinkles the crow's feet in the corners of Tiris's clear blue eyes as he approaches Serath. "Your Highness," he greets in a regal purr, a heavy baritone that echoes out from deep within his breastplate. He stops a few steps short of the Prince and bows. Such a gesture is not easily, particularly with the shield strapped to his back; yet, for Tiris, it seems effortless. "Tiris!" There's a curious note of mirth in the Prince's tone as he states the older Kahar's name. It's a kind of nostalgia, one might say, drawn from having been at least a small part of the venerated Wildcat's illustrious history. A camaraderie forged in the heat of battle is one that weathers the passage of time better than any metal, it would seem. "It's been a while," he continues once the initial impact of the reunion wears down a little, his own voice dropping back to that softer regal purr that offsets the baritone from the older man. "You're looking well. In fact, you're looking far better than I remember you being..." Though the Serath Kahar sitting before Tiris may not quite be the same Serath Kahar the old Wildcat served with, while some things do change, some things would appear to stay the same, regardless of such events. "Far better!" Tiris replies, approving heartily. He flexes the fingers of his left hand to illustrate his recovery. The elder Kahar regards the Prince with a find smile--a feeling of nostalgia amplified by age, and approaches him a few steps further. He cannot help but laugh as he looks Serath over. "You have changed," the aging Wildcat observes, "but for the better, it seems. It is good to see you again." An odd moment of silence follows. The silence the precedes an unsettling, but necessary, comment. Tiris's good nature drains away quickly, and his eyes move to the back wall for a second before returning to Serath. "My deepest regards for His Majesty, your brother. I mourned him, Your Highness." "As did I." Serath offers in return, his tone taking on a hint of melancholy as his voice lowers in respect for those no longer alive. "I lived in his shadow, but never felt eclipsed by it. Talus was far too resplendent for such darkness to be cast upon anyone. I can only hope that he finally found the freedom he so greatly desired, and that he approves of the path I took the Empire down in his passing." There's a pause as Serath silently reflects on that, before the moment is cast away with the shake of his head and a mirthless smile, "But, we must not demean life by standing in awe of death, and I'd much rather speak of my brother in the present tense rather than the past. He lives on, even if we can't find him." There's an irony there. Tiris nods dutifully. His only reply is one of simple, sincere obedience. "Very well, Your Highness," he says in a voice both strong and soft. The armored nobleman allows another moment of silence to pass before taking a hold of the nearest redwood chair and dragging it closer to the Prince. He removes the sabre from his hip and shield from his back, setting both on the massive table before he sits. All of this is done quite noisily, but the dissonance doesn't seem to bother Tiris. In fact, he just seems relieved to be off his feet. He exhales at length before regarding Serath. "I was pleased to receive your summons," the elder Kahar says, taking a soldierly tone, "and to have the honor of meeting your betrothed. As always, I am at the service of the Light, the Empire, and our House." Dragonsblood, Conduit of the Light, or whatever else may be attributed to him right now, there remains a real echo of pride in Serath's expression as Tiris offers that latter vow. Imperial blood runs deep, after all. "Far too many people say that without meaning it these days." he laments, looking for a moment upon that large tome that dutifully rests upon the space of table surface in front of him, before shifting his gaze back to the old hound now sat but a short distance away. "It does my own honor a great justice to hear it from you, and know you sincerely mean it, without even the slightest suspicion of doubt entering into the equation. Truth be told, my reasons for asking you here have something do with that sincerity." A pause follows once more, and in the wake of that pause the Prince adds, "I'm afraid this is more than a social request, but I suspect that you'll be pleased with the subject matter all the same." That is more than enough to pique the interest of the older Kahar. An eager curiosity blooms across his face as he strokes his salt and pepper goatee. Tiris motions to the Prince and requests, "Please, Your Highness, go on." "I intend to," Serath counters, a suggestion of a smile caressing his features as the traditional frivolity of a Prince making light of his station manages to interject itself into the conversation. Still, the moment is fleeting, and it isn't long before his more somber side of resignation and reservation returns once more. "However, first I need to know something - an opinion, and a glimmer of perception. Tiris, do you know why I'm here today while Zolor Zahir is in Fastheld Keep? Do you understand why I turned down the shackles of the Throne and the seductive promises of power it offered?" "Hmmm..." Tiris hums, deep and thoughtful, and sinks back into his chair. His eyes search the ceiling for an answer. His contemplation stretches on for quite some time, but when he finally speaks, it is without hesitancy. It is, however, preceded by a qualification, "While I cannot pretend to know your mind, Your Highness, you requested my opinion, and so you shall have it." That out of the way, he begins properly, "Any position of power is as much shackle as scepter, and not all men can stand the feel of both. I feel that you are not here because you don't wish to serve the Empire, but because you must be true to yourself, and you are not one to be shackled lightly." Such a serious statement can be followed only by a witty quip, and one is forthcoming, though it is dressed oddly in Tiris's baritone. "... or perhaps it was just the paperwork." "My own prescription for health is less paperwork and more running barefoot through the grass." the Wildcat Prince offers upon the wings of a light sigh, "However, you've just about covered the majority of it. The rest remains a factor unknown to most of Fastheld and her Nobility. Tiris, the Imperial Council that attempted to steer the Empire after my brother died was lamentable. Though I'm sure the now Duke Nillu and those beneath him had only the best intentions, the fact was that they brought Fastheld to the brink of civil war; a concept so outlandish that I would think someone a fool for suggesting it, had it not nearly a reality." "Consider the unprecedented action of the Imperial Tribunal in enacting the coup that deposed the Council and put Zolor in power. That wasn't an act taken lightly, and - regardless of how you feel about the man - Zolor *is* a qualified authority of political power. He managed to bring the Houses back under heel and restore order to the Empire as a whole." At this point Serath falls silent. Perhaps to catch his breath. Perhaps to consider the next words to a tale he's worded differently time and time before. "This caused dissent among Kahar loyalists, of course;" he continues, "But had I deposed Zolor - and I could have gained the support needed to do so in a heartbeat - it would have caused a rift among the Nobility that would have torn Fastheld apart. That is not something I would wish to inflict upon the people of this Empire for the sake of a golden trinket and a lofty chair in a hall. I'm no Emperor, Tiris; I'm not my brother, and as much as traditionalists wish it, I never will be. I remain Sovereign, however, and that is but one aspect of the Serath Kahar that sits before you. Through Zolor I have, perhaps, accomplished more for the benefit and security of the realm than I could have dreamed to have done as Emperor." "And that," he finishes, "Is where I stand." "I will be honest, Your Highness, and admit that I have little confidence in His Grace, the Regent." Tiris's voice grows lower as he speaks through frown. "He is a qualified authority of political power, and a capable administrator... However, I believe that the Wildcat Throne has survived and sustained the Empire through more than just authority and power. It is his morality that gives me doubts, Your Highness." Having said this, he shifts a bit inside his armor and grows silent. He shakes his head, dismissing some private thought--and an unpleasant one, at that--before speaking again. "Though I suppose my doubts highlight the courage of your choice all the more, Your Highness. The Empire strives forward, united." "Zolor isn't a nice man, Tiris, I'll be honest." the Prince admits, tapping a gloved finger upon the cover of the "Weapons of Legacy" tome. The contact of leather upon leather results in a muffle pat more than anything else, and one that doesn't seem to accomplish much in the way of distracting Serath as he gives his evaluation. "However, his demeanor is one that is gifted upon everyone, so he is - at least - honest in that regard, and one might even say bluntly impartial as a result. He knows how to steer the Empire, however, and he has wisdom enough to listen to advice and do what's *right* for Fastheld, which surprised even me." Now that's something that IS worthy of a smile from the Prince, his finger ceasing the tapping as he regards Tiris fully. "I think it may have even surprised Zolor. If nothing else, the man he was before taking the throne is not the man he is now. I don't think he's beyond redemption, I don't think we should judge him on mannerism or bloodline, and I do trust him, as strange as it might sound from a Kahar, and the Prince of the Blood as well... such as he is, these days." Dragonblood indeed, so the bards claim. "But where does this all fit in to why I asked you to Dawnstar Keep?" As Serath speaks about Zolor, Tiris looks increasingly surprised. Surprised and puzzled. In the end, though, he simply nods without comment. He looks unconvinced, but willing to give the benefit of the doubt, at least. The shift in conversation renews the aging Kahar's curiosity. He leans forward, resting iron vambraces on iron greaves, and looks expectantly to the Prince. "I am curious as to that very question, Your Highness." A few moments of serenity interject themselves between the older Wildcat's reply and Serath's own elaboration. However, when the answer to the question arrives, the Prince's voice is nothing if not pragmatic as he expounds on the details. "Simply put," he purrs, solemn and sincere, "A Prince should not be Duke of House Kahar. A Sovereign of the Empire, accountable only to the Light, has the potential to exploit authority at the expense of other Houses. That same Sovereign, in turn, may be corrupted - willingly or unknowingly - by agents of other powers, seeking to use that same Sovereignty to further personal agendas. Though I do not doubt myself by believing that I would ever fall to such petty taint, I do think the time has come to place House Kahar back into the hands of one who does not, shall we say, commune with the spirits of Dragons." "In short, Tiris, I think you'd make a damn fine Duke." Tiris answers with a silence less serene and more stunned than that which came before. He opens his mouth, but just manages to get "Your Highness..." out before running short of words. For a man who typically speaks so deliberately to be at such a loss of words, it speaks volumes about the impact of Serath's offer. "Your Highness," Tiris says again, continuing this time with his usual composure, "I would be honored." Rather than going on, and possibly losing that which he had just regained, he simply falls silent at this point. "Good." Serath affirms without much in the way of ceremony or needless congratulations, letting the words and his pragmatic sincerity speak for themselves. "Because there isn't anyone else in House Kahar to whom I would trust House Kahar *to*, which is painful to admit but at the same time a pleasure to state." The Prince's pragmatism is contagious, and Tiris catches it with an unceremonious nod. This has the added benefit of allowing Tiris to speak more easily. "Well then, I suppose that I shall not have that peaceful retirement for a while longer, Your Highness. This is an honor and a responsibility, and I am pleased to take up the mantle of Duke." He takes a deep, rumbling breath, brimming with pride. "Rest assured that the House is in good hands." Serath nods his own affirmation of that, adding, "I wouldn't have asked you if I doubted that for even a second." before finally offering the old hound a warm smile. "Oh, that reminds me..." he then promptly states, moving to swiftly push himself up into a standing posture, and then just as smoothly moving to unhinge the various buckles and straps that hold the scabbard that maintains sentry upon his left hip, removing that scabbard and twirling it around between his hands to force it into a horizontal angle. With that sheath now resting in front of his chest, supported by two upturned palms at each end, the Prince of the Blood offers the scabbard - and the weapon that sleeps within it - to the newly appointed Duke of the Imperial House. "I'd had this planned for a few days now. It'd have been somewhat ironic to have forgot to actually carry it through now we're at this point." Tiris leaps to his feet as Serath stands, infused with an energy that makes him unnaturally spry. He looks upon the scabbard quietly for a moment before taking it with both hands. The elder wildcat cradles it carefully, holding it as a weapon as much as a symbol of office, with hands that give respect to its true purpose. His fingers grip the handle reverently and draw Azuredge from its scabbard, which is set aside. The new Duke Kahar holds the blade in both of his hands and is, for the second time tonight, struck speechless. He turns the blade over, looking from tip to hilt, then turns it over again and repeats. "By the Light," he murmurs in awe. After an appropriately long period of admiration, Tiris looks back to Serath and drops his reverence in favor of stern appreciation. "You honor me again, Your Highness," as he speaks, it is obvious that he is trying not to look back at Azuredge. "A beautiful blade. Nothing more need be said. I pray to the Light that I shall never have to use it." "You honor yourself, Tiris." the Prince states by way of rebuttal, shaking his head just a little as he watches his older friend appraise the gifted longsword, folding his arms against his chest a moment later as they both remain standing. "There is little that I could do to add to that. The sword you have there, Azuredge by name, is a product of change. A change for the Empire, a change for Light's Reach, for House Mikin, for House Kahar..." Serath trails off, falling silent before quietly adding: "A change for us both. Everything changes; everything stays the same. She's already tasted blood, Tiris. Don't be afraid to call upon her services again. That somber declaration stands alone for a few moments as the two Wildcats - or perhaps, the Wildcat and the Imperial Dragon, Wildcat in name only now - stand there in quiet contemplation. Eventually, however, Serath breaks that silence with a tone that sounds nothing if not a little more cheerful than before. "Still, that House Kahar is in safe hands means I can continue with my personal agenda free from the shackles of the domestic policy and all the legislative machinations and scandalous maneuverings that walk hand-in-hand with House Politics. I will give you two items of advice, however: The first is to maintain our alliance with House Mikin above all else. I doubt that you'll need to concern yourself with such things, as I *sincerely* doubt relations will ever falter, but keep it in mind all the same." Unable to stand the distraction, Tiris returns Azuredge to its scabbard and sets it carefully on the table, beside the blade he entered with. He rests his hands on his hips and looks back to Serath with greater focus. A firm nod signals his acceptance of the Prince's advice. "Mongoose and Wildcat have served side-by-side for longer than the Aegis has stood, and half my blood is Mikin. I shall stay always on the best of terms with House Mikin." "And the second:" Serath continues, both his gaze and his tone taking on a sharper edge as he offers the subsequent warning, "Be equally cautious of House Nillu and Duke Nillu alike, Tiris. House Nillu itself is already suffering from internal strife, but Duke Nillu is a traditionalist who places blind loyalty to my father's name above the security and prosperity of the very Empire. His opinion of me has become somewhat dire ever since I snubbed the council and ventured into the Wildlands in search of Talus on my own. That I refused the throne to let Zolor hold the economic and social reins of the Empire has only infuriated the Duke further, to the point that he had not only planned to use Mages to take control of the throne, but also attempted to rally other Houses against House Kahar." The Prince permits a short intermission to allow his words to be recieved, until - satisfied that Tiris has taken it all in - he adds, "Should Duke Nillu make such a move then they would quickly find themselves at odds with House Mikin and Zahir, as well as Kahar. It'd be a fool's gambit, but a House War over blind loyalty and perceived injustice is not something I hope to see. Keep your guard up." "Believe me when I say that I have seen enough of war, Your Highness," Tiris says darkly. "To see Wildlings butchering men is horrible enough, but to see men doing it to each other? That is not something that I will allow." A heavy burden of having seen too much falls over the elder Kahar, who broods quietly for a time. When he speaks again, it is with booming determination. "However, I will not hand over the prosperity and honor of my House or the Empire, either. Should it come to a fight, I will bring a terrible justice down upon our enemies... and in the mean time, I shall watch the Duke Nillu carefully." "Should it come to that, you know where to find me." Serath offers by way of assurance, nodding softly at the words of the older Wildcat. And just as quickly as the mood turned somber, the Prince's tone adopts a more upbeat ring to it as he offers final words of affirmation. "And even if it doesn't, you still know where to find me. Don't doubt that." ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs